The Twelve Days of Christmas
by Areida Rivers
Summary: Have you ever the song The Twelve Days of Christmas You know, the whole 'partridge in a pear tree bit.' That song is a true story. My story. Here it is. [ON HOLD]
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

I curled up my toes and wished the day would never end.

"Come along, Addie!" my mother called

I pretended like I hadn't heard her, keeping my eyes trained on the sunset before me. Pink melded with red and then collided into purple before fading into orange with perfectly orchestrated resplendency above the ocean.

"Now, Addie!"

I leaned down and captured a tiny seashell in my chubby fingers before beginning my slow trek across the sand.

"Your daughter defines procrastination," I heard my mother say to my father, only half-kidding.

Daddy laughed and jogged down the beach, lifting me easily. "We'll come back tomorrow, all right, Addie Bell?"

I pouted, wriggling in his arms. "But I wanted to get more seashell."

"Will a shoulder ride suffice?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

I considered this offer momentarily. "Okay. But you promise we'll come back, Daddy? You promise?"

He laughed again, a great, booming laugh. "I promise." He set me on his shoulders and we ran back to where my mother stood, smiling and shaking her head.

"You spoil her, Richard."

"She makes it easy. She looks just like you."

Slightly mollified, my mother smiled and held out her arms. "Come on down, Addie."

Wanting to please my mother, I obliged and she set me on my feet, taking one hand as my father held the other. I dug my toes into the sand. "Swing me!" I said, tugging at my parents' hands.

My father squeezed my hand. "What do you say, young lady?"

"Please," I corrected. "_Please _swing me."

"One… two… three!"

Suddenly, my feet left the sand and I was soaring through the air at an unheard of altitude. The shells looked tiny! I giggled and shrieked in delight. "I'm flying!"

When we arrived back home, my mother combed my dark hair and set me on my bed. I sat cross-legged, tracing the carving of a sun on the headboard that my father had created. "Daddy?"

He'd been standing near the window, but turned to look at me when I spoke.

"Hmm?"

I held out my hand, palm up, to display the shell I'd taken from the beach. "Will you put this seashell on a chain for me? Please? I wanna wear it like a princess." I waved my hand to show him how important my request was.

My father smiled. "Like a princess, huh? Well, I think we can manage that." He took the shell out of my palm with two fingers and left the room. When he returned. He was holding a golden chain. He held out his hand and I placed the shell in it.

"It's so small," I said, wrinkling up my nose and smiling.

"Just like you," he said, and he strung the chain through a hole in the shell. "There." He clasped it behind my neck and I reached up to finger it gently.

"It's so pretty, Daddy," I said in wonder.

"I'm glad you like it, Princess Addie." I giggled as he tapped me on my nose.

"Come on, Addie," my mother said, laying me down. She tucked a wisp of hair behind my ear and then shooed my father out of the room. "Honestly, Richard, you're just as bad as she." She put one hand on her hip. "I'll deal with you later."

"I'm counting on it." My father winked and then was gone.

My mother blushed as I pulled my fingers reluctantly away from the intricate contours of the shell.

"Why's your face so red?"

"Never you mind," she said sternly, though she was smiling. "Goodnight, love." She pulled the covers over my shoulders and I snuggled down into my bed.

"Mommy?" I sat up.

She turned in the doorway. "What is it, sweetheart?"

I looked to the window, where I could see one star shining faintly. "Will you leave the window open? Please."

She smiled and crossed the room, lifting the window and allowing the warm summer breeze to enter the tiny bedroom.

"Thank you." I settled back into the cool quilts, yawning.

"You're welcome, Addie. I love you."

"We'll go back tomorrow, right Mommy?"

"Of course, darling."

"I love you, Mommy…" I murmured.

"I love you too, my sweet Addie," I heard her whisper, and then I fell asleep.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

My eyes flew open.

My room was bathed in moonlight. I heard the old grandfather clock ticking in the hallway. Something was wrong.

I flung the covers off my legs and lowered myself to the ground carefully, my bare feet touching the wooden floor. Plodding softly across the room, I reached up and turned the knob.

I wandered down the hall, past the grandfather clock, which was announcing the midnight hour. The door to my parents' room was cracked open. I reached up and pushed it with one hand, the wooden rectangle creaking open.

"Mommy?" I whispered.

A hand clamped itself over my mouth and I screamed. Though it was muffled my parents sat up in their bed and I heard my mother gasp.

"Don't move," the voice said.

My father, who was easing out of bed, froze.

"Good. Now go to that box on the table."

My father made a motion as if to stand.

"Not you," the voice snapped, then became soft again. "Her."

I could see my mother's dark eyes wide with fear in the moonlight. Clutching a blanket to her chest, she climbed out of bed and crossed the room, her bare feet silent. She lifted the wooden box, which I knew contained my mother's solitary diamond necklace and some savings. I wasn't allowed to go near the box.

"Open it," the voice commanded.

My mother lifted the lid.

I looked at my father, whose teeth were clenched and his face was pale.

"Take out any jewelry and coins and bring them here. I want you to put them down in front of me. Don't try anything."

I felt one hand release me momentarily. Before I could wonder at its absence, I felt something cold against my neck. I stiffened and looked to my mother. Pure terror filled her eyes. "Please don't hurt her," she whispered.

"Bring the box here."

Uncertainty was added to the emotions raging across my mother's face. "Do you want me to take the things out or just bring the box?" she asked.

"Don't stall, lady," the voice said, pressing the cold metal to my throat.

"I'm not stalling," my mother insisted. "Please, just tell me what to do."

"Just bring it here!"

"Which?"

"Amy," my father warned.

"Stay out of this!" the man yelled, pointing a knife in my father's direction. Was that what had been next to my throat? Fear welled up in my throat. "Mommy…"

"Shh, Addie, be still."

"Bring it to me!"

"Amy, please do it."

I could hear the sneer in the man's voice as his sweaty palm stayed clamped across my mouth. "Yes, and that lovely ring on your finger too."

My mother clenched her face and looked uncertain.

"It doesn't matter," I heard my father say in a choked voice. "For the love of God, Amy, just the man what he wants."

She took a step forward, and then the conflict in her eyes was resolved. Flinging the box away, she snatched me out of the man's arms.

I saw a flash of silver as a scream pierced the air.

"Daddy!" I screamed.

"_NO!_" My father shoved the man to the ground, but like a rat, he scrambled away, snatched the box and fled the room.

"Addie!" He scooped me up. "Where is it? Oh, Addie Bell, where did he hurt you?"

I was sobbing. "Daddy, Daddy." I clung to him.

I saw fear and anger in my father's eyes as he peeled my arms off his neck. "Let me see, sweetheart. Where did the bad man hurt you?"

I looked down at my white nightgown and saw a stain of dark red. I touched the fabric with one finger. "It's not mine, Daddy," I whispered.

Comprehension dawned on his face. "Oh, God… oh no…" He set me down and reached for my mother. She wasn't moving.

He turned her over on her back and I saw the knife lying on the wooden floor next to her, a dark pool gathering quickly.

"Amy," he moaned. "Oh, Amy." He lifted her in his arms, cradling her like a child.

She reached up slowly, as though it were a great effort. "Richard…" Her voice was hoarse.

"Shh…" He put his finger to her lips. "Don't…" he choked. "Don't try to speak."

"I love you. Take care of Addie. She's… she's got to fly."

"Don't go, Amy. Oh, please don't go. We need you." A tear rolled down my father's face and fell into the dark puddle at his knees.

"Mommy?" I scooted closer, touching her foot. It was cold… so cold.

"I love you…" she whispered, then her eyes closed.

My father's fist clenched as he drew my mother up to his chest, his body wracked with sobs.

I stood, shaking my head. _No._ I stumbled backward, disbelieving.

And before I fled the room, the last thing I saw was my father rocking my mother's dead body back and forth. His face was haunted, streaked with tears, and his eyes shone with hatred.

Then I ran.


	2. One

**_A/N: I know it has been eons since my last update, but I have been doing a lot of behind the scenes work on this story, and I hope you all will enjoy it and bear with me and my sporadic updates. I never dreamed reader replies would take more than thirty seconds, but they did. So, not sure who all is still reading, but I replied to everyone. Enjoy the new chapter!_**

_Anne: You know Gavin, Addie, and Gaia a whole lot more now, huh? ;-) I'm really going to try and finish this one this time. Thanks for all your support. You rock, Anne._

_Sheyana: Thanks for reading! I don't know how frequent my updates are going to be, but I hope you keep reading anyway._

_Kait: Nope, not just a one-shot. I'm planning for this one to be my first novel, but we'll just have to see how it goes._

_Pea: Thank you very much._

_Lulai: I really hope you're still reading this one, O Queen of Fairy Tale Retellings, but I'm definitely going to be needing your help as I progress._

_V: I'm working on incorporating the theme more. Any suggestions will be accepted and duly considered._

_Appledapple0803: It kind of makes me want to cry too, because I love Addie so much! Thanks for reading, though. And I hate the thief too. He's a loser._

_Addie Rivers: Without you, the name of the main character never would have been Addie. Therefore, you are amazing. I love you, my darling baby sister._

_American-born-confused-desi: You'll see…_

_Lyndsey Rose/Shriek: I think it's so funny how we found each other on this site. Is that just me? This is posted on the YWS too, if you want to look at it._

_Guinivere Sage: Thanks so much for the review! Those long reviews make me all warm and fuzzy inside. And they also inspire me to keep writing… Yes, I'm bribing you, but is it really so bad? Hee hee. Just kidding. I'll have to look into your stories one of these days when I'm not swamped with evil schoolwork. Thanks again for the review!_

**One**

I never get what I want for Christmas.

In my aunt and uncle's manor, Christmas is not a holiday. It is an event. Each year the decorations become a little grander, the food more plentiful, the gifts more expensive, the servants work harder, and the guest lists swell.

One thing, however, stays the same.

"Oh Adelaide, look! It's the gift from your father!"

I leapt up, causing ribbons and torn paper to fly everywhere as I waded through the sea of unwanted Christmas presents.

My aunt laughed. "Over there, darling," she said, motioning to a box on the floor.

I plopped down and placed my hands on the wooden chest reverently. Here it was: the gift I'd waited for all year. I opened it slowly and let out a gasp of delight. Inside were four leather-bound volumes. "Oh…" I touched their spines reverently.

A smile spreading across my face, I reached inside and took out the first one, turning carefully to the first page as I read the first several lines. My heart swelled as my eyes took in the page, and then lifted my face to see my aunt and uncle looking down at me.

"What is it, Adelaide?" my aunt asked.

"Poetry," I murmured, closing the book and holding it to my chest, hoping that somehow it would bring me closer to my father.

"That's lovely," Aunt Colette gushed, motioning a maid over. "Elissa, take Adelaide's gift from her father to her room."

The maid dipped into a quick curtsey as I replaced the book in the chest reluctantly. I closed the box and placed the latch downward, running my hands over the wood. My father made the box in which my presents were placed every year.

I watched the maid's retreating back for a moment, then turned to look back at my uncle, who was smoking a cigar, as usual. "Uncle Winston?"

He grunted. Uncle Winston had never been much on words.

"May I have my letter?"

"There wasn't one, Addie." His brow was furrowed and his salt-and-pepper moustache twitched.

I stood. "What do you mean?" I stepped around a plush chair. "There's always a letter."

Uncle Winston shook his head. "I don't know what to tell you, Addie, because there wasn't one."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "But there's _always_ a note. Something."

My aunt's kind eyes held a sheen of tears. "Oh, Adelaide." She crossed the room and knelt beside me, putting her hand on the side of my head and stroking my hair.

I shook my head, standing again. "Are you positive, Uncle Winston?" I asked, my voice taking on a desperate tone.

"There was no note, Addie. I checked twice." A twiggy-looking servant with a sour disposition came up beside him and whispered something in his ear. He nodded curtly, then looked back to my aunt and I. "I've got some business to attend to, ladies, so I'll see you two at dinner."

"Winston. It's Christmas."

"I know perfectly well what day it is, Colette," he said gruffly. "But this is urgent. I will see you at dinner." And with that, he turned on his heel and walked off, the servant scurrying to keep up.

Aunt Colette sighed, a defeated look on her face. Then she looked back to me, pasting on a smile. "Well then, sweetheart, I guess it's just you and me. Would you like to open another present?"

I shook my head. "No thanks, Aunt Colette. I think I'll just go for a walk, if that's okay."

Aunt Colette's dark eyes searched mine. "Are you sure, darling?"

I stood. "Uh huh. I'll read to you later, if you want."

She smiled gently, straightening. "I'd love it. Don't get dirty."

"Yes ma'am," I said, walking toward the archway that led out of the parlor.

"And make sure Flora gets out your cloak!"

"'Kay," I called back, quickening my steps as my gown brushed the stones. I swallowed hard, struggling to hold back tears. Why hadn't there been a letter? My father always wrote to me…

I walked faster. Maybe it had gotten lost. That must be it. What else could it be? I was struck by a horrible thought and stopped dead in my tracks, suddenly very cold.

"Hey, runt!" came a voice, but I didn't move. I heard footsteps and then my best friend Gavin was in front of me. "There you are. Wow, you're done opening presents early. We just got here, and there's still plenty of time before dinner, so we can go—" He stopped at the look on my face. His brows wrinkled into a frown of brotherly concern. "Addie? What's the matter?"

My lip trembled, still in disbelief. "There wasn't a letter this year," I managed to say.

Gavin's eyes widened in shock. "What?"

I turned to look at him, shaking my head. "He didn't write to me." I bit my lip. "D'you think…"

"I'm sure he's all right," Gavin said instantly.

I twisted my hands nervously. "Yeah, but it's not just that. What if he didn't write to me because… because  
he just didn't want to?"

Gavin put his arm around me. "Don't say stuff like that, Addie. Your dad loves you more than anything. It probably just got lost."

I tugged at my dress, fingers clenched. "You think so?"

Gavin nodded. "That has to be it. Listen, let's go terrorize Flora or something."

I nodded distractedly. "Yeah, okay."

He squeezed my shoulder and stepped away. "I'll race you back to your room. You've gotta get a cloak if we want to go outside."

I turned around suddenly. "What is that?" I pointed to the tapestry nearest us.

Gavin turned to look, eyebrows raised. "Where?"

Laughing wildly, I set off in a run. "You went for it _again_!" I cried gleefully.

"You'll pay for that, Addie!" Gavin yelled back, starting to run after me.

I beat him to my door, chest heaving. As he slowed and then stopped, I straightened. "You're slow."

He made a face. "But you're short."

I stuck my tongue out at him and opened my bedroom door. "Very observant, genius boy."

He laughed and slid down the wall. "Aren't you coming?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Nah, I'll just wait out here."

I paused. "Why?"

"Just 'cause."

I frowned. "Gavin. Why."

He sighed. "Because. Mem told me yesterday that when I came here we had to act more mature…and that I wasn't allowed to go in your rooms."

My jaw dropped. "I can't believe that!"

He shrugged. "Me neither. But that's what she said."

Rolling my eyes and huffing, I left the door open and flounced across the room, snatching my worn green cloak from my bed. "Flora! I'm taking my cloak so Gavin and me can go play!"

"Gavin and I," corrected the elderly woman as she entered the room, sewing basket in hand.

"Gavin and I," I repeated. "So we're going now, okay?"

"Wait just a minute, young lady." She set her basket down on a nearby table and walked to the armoire. "You can't wear that old thing."

I looked down at the cloak in my hand. "It's not _that_ old," I protested, concealing a hole.

She looked at me sternly, hand out. "Give it to me. Take this." She snatched my worn cloak and exchanged it for a larger blue cloak with a white fur collar. I wrinkled up my nose in distaste.

"Stop that." she chided. "It's Prystiter, from northern Wyndham. The very finest."

"It's what?" I asked, touching the white fur on the cloak with one finger

"Prystiter," Gavin called from the corridor. "A really rare breed of animal. It kind of looks like a big mouse, except it's mean and has blood red eyes."

"Know-it-all," I muttered, rolling my eyes. I made a move as though to pull the cloak over my shoulder, then froze. "Wait a second… this is an _animal_? Eww!"

"Don't be such a baby," Gavin called from the hallway and Flora sighed and crossed the room.

"You will be the death of me, child," the old woman said, adjusting the cloak around my shoulders. "And don't you dare think of taking it off, Adelaide Erimentha."

I cringed at the use of my middle name, and I heard Gavin snicker. "Shut it!" I called at him.

Gavin only laughed as he rose to his feet. "May I take her now, Miss Flora?"

Flora beamed at him. "You two go have some fun. Heavens knows you could use it."

I left the room muttering. Once we were out in the corridor I shoved Gavin in the arm. "You're always trying to get on Flora's good side."

"It might come in handy someday." He grinned and looked around to make sure no one was coming before glancing back at me. "So are we going to race down to the pond or what?"

I shrugged. "I dunno Gav… I'm kind of tired."

"Okay," he replied easily. A second later, he broke into a run. "Like I was going to go for it again!" he called over his shoulder.

"Cheater!" I ran after him, my feet pounding the stones of corridor before we turned onto the lush carpet of the entry hallway. I caught up with him as we pushed open the big front doors and were hit by a rush of frigid air. We stopped running, our chests heaving.

I exhaled, my breath showing in a cloud near my face. "I love Christmas."

Gavin turned his head, his dark hair brushing against his neck. His thin face was happy, contented. He reached and took my hand. "Me too."

Then the two of us made our way down to the pond, taking our time. Gavin was quiet, and I knew he wanted to give me time to think. _Maybe the letter is in some kind of compartment or something,_ I thought. _Daddy probably just wanted to make me work for it._ A smile curved at my lips. That must be it.

Gavin and I spent the rest of the afternoon skating, and when it began to grow dark, Flora came down to the pond to chastise us severely for not coming in sooner. Gavin and I waved at one another as he went off with his servant boy and Flora dragged me up to my rooms to help me dress for Christmas supper.

Having dinner with Gavin's family each year at Christmas was a tradition in my aunt and uncle's household, and one I adored. Unfortunately, Flora persisted, year after year, in insisting I wear the most ridiculous—and uncomfortable—outfits. I approached my wardrobe apprehensively, not at all eager to find out what I would be styling this year.

Flora dug around for a moment, then pulled out a canary yellow, lacy little confection dotted with bows.

I took a step back. "Uh uh. No way, Flora."

Flora's eyes held a twinkle of amusement as she replaced the dress in my wardrobe and came out with another, this time a pale pink.

I crossed my arms across my chest. "Flora," I said. "It's _pink_."

Flora plopped her hand onto her generous hip. "Well of course it's pink, Adelaide! Pink is a lovely color. Come here and stop making a fuss."

"Flora. You've made me wear some of the ugliest dresses I've ever seen in all my life in the past six years, and I'm not wearing one again. Ma'am," I added hastily.

Flora chuckled. "I know, lovey. Here's the dress I really want you to wear." And with that, Flora hung up the pink dress and pulled out a beautiful royal blue gown with a circular, scoop-neck collar, and tiny rhinestones all along the neckline. The sleeves were long and billowy, and the waist cinched in slightly in a "V." It was beautiful.

"Oh Flora," I gasped, reaching out to touch it.

"I thought that it was time for something a little more grown up," Flora said, patting my cheek. "You're growing up too fast, my Adelaide." She smiled fondly and laid the dress out on the bed to prevent wrinkles and walked over to the vanity to prepare the area where she would dress my hair. She shook her head, muttering to herself, "Thirteen next year… only a tiny girl of six when I first met you… such big eyes you had! You always looked ready to bolt… scared out of you skin…"

She motioned for me to sit as she continued her disjointed reminiscing. "But so smart! Master Levorsky couldn't believe how quickly you picked up on whatever he taught you. There was one maid who mistook your silence for a lack of intelligence, but what a surprise you gave her when you came out of your shell! Oh, I'll never forget the look on her face—of course, I doubt you'd remember her; she was only here a short time and you were so young. She's married to a blacksmith now, with five or six little ones, I believe…"

And she was off… I did my best to hold still while Flora pulled my hair into a simple yet elegant style that would both please my aunt and keep it out of my way as she rambled on. "Almost done," Flora finally said. "Sit still."

I stopped fidgeting and clenched my eyes shut, counting slowly to ten. I was at nine and three quarters when Flora patted by back. "Done. And what a vision you are, my sweet."

I peeked. I guessed I looked okay. I stood and kissed Flora on her soft, wrinkled cheek. "Thanks," I said with a little smile.

She shook her head and patted my cheek. "Go have fun."

I laughed and dipped into a wobbly curtsey. "Yes ma'am!"

"I'll have no more of your cheek, little miss," Flora said with a chuckle, shooing me out of the room.

I hated walking. I ran, I skipped, hopped on one foot, crawled, waddled along on my knees. Anything but walking. Tonight I chose to scurry. That sounded like fun.

So I scurried along the hallways, ducking behind the occasional suit of armor just for good measure, until I reached the doors of our family dining hall. My aunt and uncle's manor also boasted of a more formal dining setting, but this one would do just fine for Christmas dinner with old friends.

"Addie!"

I turned at the sound of a happy squeal and was nearly knocked down by an energetic hug from Gaia, Gavin's younger sister, pest extraordinaire. She beamed up at me, her green eyes nearly hidden beneath her fringe that was getting too long. She was only a year younger than me, but about eight times as hyper.

"Hi… Gaia…" I wheezed. "You're… suffocating… me…"

"What does smuficate mean?" Gaia asked loudly, squeezing tighter.

"It means let go of Addie or I'll smack you," Gavin said, looking annoyed as he peeled his younger sister off of me.

"Thanks," I gasped, feeling as though I had just been released from the clutches of a particularly evil corset—a sensation I'd been lucky enough to have only experienced once and was not eager to repeat.

"No problem. She's been so loud today. Mem finally threatened to take back all of her Christmas presents if she didn't lower her voice and stop running in circles."

I stifled a giggle. "Might have worked."

"Addie, how are you? Look at you, you must have grown a foot since I saw you last!" Gavin's mother, Tabitha, reached me at a much more leisurely pace than had Gaia, and enveloped me in a motherly hug.

"Yeah, she wishes," Gavin said with a grin.

I stuck out my tongue so his mother couldn't see me, and when Gavin did it back, his father, Lord Randall, caught him. "Put it back, Gavin, you're not a toad."

I hid my laugh behind my hand as I received another hug from Gavin's father. "Hi Lord Randall," I said.

He patted my head and I fought the urge to scowl, which made Gavin laugh.

"All right, all right, enough of this. The food is getting cold." My uncle had just bustled into the corridor where we were all loitering, his moustache twitching in irritation.

My aunt was on his heels. "Winston," she said quietly.

He glanced at her, looking ruffled, though slightly mollified, and took her arm to lead the way into the dining room.

Lord Randall, an older version of Gavin, winked at me, then tucked his wife's arm into the crook of his and followed my aunt and uncle.

Gaia followed in a flurry of pink, a color that didn't suit her, as she muttered something about manners. Gavin and I grinned at one another and entered the dining room last, taking our seats across from one another.

Uncle Winston was at one end of the table, while Randall took the other and their wives sat at their right. Gavin was in between his mother and Gaia, and I was next to my aunt and an empty chair. The dining room was decorated with tasteful garlands and a few candles were placed strategically about the room.

Dinner was relatively uneventful, except when a new maid nearly dropped a large platter and when Gaia said something about how much fun she thought it would be to live as a thief. Her mother's eyebrows shot up as she chastised Gaia, and her father glanced up from his meal disapprovingly. I had to stifle a laugh at the sight of Gavin's little sister explaining in great detail how "terribly exciting" she thought it would be, living off others' work, living the nomadic life.

When Lord Randall looked up again, Gaia stopped mid-sentence and stuck out her bottom lip. Of course, Lord Randall's glare would have scared the stoutest of hearts—there was just something about that steady gaze atop the distinguished-looking beard. Gaia was sullen for the rest of the meal.

Gavin and I escaped as soon as we could, and made our way up to the more comfortable of the sitting rooms in my aunt and uncle's manor, which also happened to be the one we were keeping the Christmas tree in that year.

"Well, that could have been worse," Gavin said, falling into a chair near the tree.

I frowned at him and plopped into the seat nearest him. "I thought you liked the Christmas dinners."

He shrugged. "They get weirder every year."

I bit my lip as I considered his statement. Uncle Winston seemed a bit more irritable each year, Aunt Colette a little more worried. Gaia only got more obnoxious with time, but at least Gavin's parents seemed to stay the same. I voiced this opinion.

"I know what you mean, but doesn't something just seem a little… off about your uncle? I'll be honest, I never really liked him, but today something about him just seemed fishy."

I snorted. "He was just mad because the turkey didn't carve perfectly the first time. And besides that, we must be some of the only people that still eat turkey on Christmas."

Gavin laughed. "Yeah, all the rich people are eating these days is Creenbloe."

I wrinkled up my nose. "Eww. I hate Creenbloe."

Gavin nodded. "Me too. It looks funny."

"That greenish twinge."

"The overpowering smell."

"The way you never can cut it into an edible bite size," I added.

"And the texture is just so…"

"_Bumpy_," we said at the same time, both wrinkling up our noses. Then we fell into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, which resulted in both of us falling out of our chairs.

Gavin calmed down first, rolling over onto his stomach. "Hey Addie, did you really mean what you said about your dad earlier?" he asked, his face suddenly serious.

I was still giggling in spurts. "What?" I asked, not sure I'd heard him correctly as I fought to control my laughter.

"How you didn't get the letter this year. I mean, you know, from your dad."

I had been lying on my back, trying to catch my breath, but quickly sat up. "What about it?"

Gavin looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Well, you said something about how maybe your father just didn't want to send it."

I nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Do you really believe that?" he asked.

I pulled my knees to my chest, resting my chin on top of them, studying Gavin carefully, though I couldn't see his face very well in the soft light of the candles on the tree. "I don't know," I said. "At first it was just me feeling sort of panicky, but now that I've thought about it more, maybe he just didn't get around to writing a letter this year. I just can't see why he wouldn't. He always has, even that one year when it was so short that it barely counted. But it was still a letter, and it was still from him. What's your point, anyway?"

Gavin pushed up on his hands and moved into a sitting position, leaning against the chair he'd fallen out of just a few minutes earlier. "I just had this crazy thought, Addie, and I mean a really crazy thought. Do you think that maybe, just maybe, that someone wanted to keep that letter from you?"

I stared at for a moment, then laughed. "You're out of your mind, Gavin. Why would anyone want to do that?"

He shrugged. "Don't really know. But think about it. You and I both know that your dad loves you more than anything else in the whole world, and—"

"You keep saying that, Gavin, but you don't really know, do you? I mean, you've never even met him." I was beginning to wish Gavin had never mentioned this. I could feel that annoying tingle in the back of my throat that meant the tears were soon to come.

Gavin could tell I was getting upset. "Addie, I don't have to know your dad to know he loves you. It would be impossible not to."

I had been staring at the ground, keeping the tears at bay, but then lifted my head. "Thanks, Gavin," I whispered, furious with the little tremor in my voice.

"Anytime, runt, anytime," Gavin said with a smile.

I let my gaze wander among the Christmas tree's branches, over the flickering candles and between the expensive ornaments.

"Hey, Addie?"

I turned my head, still resting on my knees, to look at him. "What?"

"Merry Christmas."

I smiled. "Merry Christmas, Gavin."


	3. Two

_A/N: Ah, Anne, my lone, faithful reviewer... LOL... Sorry it's taken me so long to update. School is eating me alive. It took me three hours last night just for Algebra II! Craziness I tell you. But hey, hopefully this is worth the wait, eh?_

**The Twelve Days of Christmas**

**II**

_Three Years Later_

I let out a sigh of frustration and re-shelved yet another book. I stood still in the library for a moment, wracking my brain for where I could locate the information to prove Gavin wrong. The other day we'd gotten into a disagreement that had degenerated into an argument about whether or not blue and red made purple. But where could I find some passage that would show Gavin how wrong he'd been?

The encyclopedia. How could I have been so dim-witted? I hurried to the row of shelves that housed our twenty-six-volume encyclopedia and ran my finger down the spines of the thick, green books in reverse order until I came to the third. There. But there was a space. The second was in its place, and then the fourth, but the third volume was missing.

I rolled my eyes and left the library to find Aunt Colette and ask her. She kept track of everything else in this manor; she would know. The only real problem was finding her, since she was giving a dinner party the next night and the manor was abuzz with preparations. Some count and his wife were coming, and Aunt Colette was more frazzled over this party than I'd seen her in a long time.

"Aaaaaunt Coleeeeee-eeeette!" I jogged through the corridors of my aunt and uncle's manor as I searched for my aunt.

"Aunt Colette!" I hollered again as I came upon a corner and nearly tripped on a rug. "Oof!" I misjudged my distance from a wall and clipped it as I turned the corner, but then set off again, rubbing my shoulder. "Aunt Col—"

I ran into her.

She steadied herself, looking positively scandalized. "Adelaide Erimentha Hibbard, what on earth are you doing?"

I smiled sheepishly, still rubbing my shoulder. "Um, looking for you?"

Her countenance didn't crack. "Then you should have sent someone. Honestly, telling you to slow down is like talking to a suit of armor!"

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Our suits of armor were so old that the joints probably wouldn't bend without snapping.

My aunt was still looking at my sternly. I fidgeted where I stood as my fingers twisted the front of my gown. Aunt Colette let out a sigh. "All right, what did you need?"I stopped playing with the front of my gown. I knew how much she hated that. "I was looking for a volume from the encyclopedia in the library."

"Which?"

"The third."

"Try your uncle's study," Aunt Colette said absentmindedly before she rushed off.

I rolled my eyes. That woman wasn't any help. You'd think that she'd invited the king himself to the stupid dinner she was giving tonight.

I paused in the hallway for a moment, hands on my hips, as I watched my aunt bustle away. Aunt Colette had once borne a striking resemblance to my mother, but with time, her beauty had faded, and I couldn't even see my mother in her anymore. I shook my head to clear it and directed my feet toward my uncle's study. Never mind that it had been off-limits since I was eight; if Aunt Colette said I could go in, then by gracious I was going to!

As I approached the somewhat formidable door, my curiosity surged. What could possibly be contained in this room that Uncle Winston would order I never cross its threshold? I turned the knob and stepped in, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the dim interior.

There was a window on the opposite side of the room, and the drapes were drawn so tightly that only a single bar of sunlight shone on the thick maroon carpet. I wrinkled up my nose. It was just like Uncle Winston to have such hideous flooring. Aunt Colette must have overlooked this room when she was having the manor renovated, because there was no way the carpet would have survived.

I shook my head, returning my thoughts to my mission. On my right was a row of tall bookshelves. As I drew closer I realized that there were several books I'd been missing for months now. I almost laughed aloud at the thought of Uncle Winston hoarding a book of sonnets; the image of my stern uncle sitting by the fireplace and reading the flowery poetry aloud in his stiff, gruff voice was absurdly laughable.

Regardless, I had not come to imagine whatever it was Uncle Winston did when no one was watching, but to find the twelfth volume of our encyclopedia. I was imagining the look on Gavin's face when he realized how wrong he'd been when I accidentally knocked a book off the shelf.

It sent dust flying throughout the room and I let out a sneeze so monstrous that it sent me stumbling backward a few steps. I bumped into my uncle's desk and one of my hands sent a wooden box and some papers crashing to the floor. After sneezing about three more times (I never could sneeze just once), I sniffled and surveyed the damage my allergies had done.

I groaned. I'd never be able to put everything back the way it was. Resigned, I sighed and knelt to retrieve the first book I'd knocked off the shelf. That was easy enough to replace; it was the only thing missing. The papers and box from Uncle Winston's desk were another story.

I shuffled through the papers, trying to determine what order they had been in before. One was a notice that some money was owed, another was a notice that my uncle would soon be receiving some money, two were invitations to fancy parties, and the other six were business papers that didn't make any sense to me.

Biting my lip, I took a wild guess and placed them neatly on the corner of the desk, in the most likely angle they would have been from my uncle sitting in his chair. Now for the box.

I studied it for a moment, frowning as I did. It was about twice the length of my hand, so I had been glad for the carpet to muffle the sound when it fell. It wasn't very deep, and even covered in a thin layer of dust the craftsmanship was striking. I ran my finger over the lid, taking some of the dust with me as I did. There was an engraving I hadn't noticed, so I ran my entire hand over the box to clear the topmost layer of dust. Squinting in the dark of the office and tilting the box toward the fire, I managed to discern that it said, "For my sweet," but the rest was impossible to read.

It was hard to imagine anyone sending my uncle anything engraved "for my sweet" so I stepped closer to the fireplace for more light, and nearly dropped the box when I read the rest of the inscription: "For my sweet Addie Bell." I sank into the nearest chair and let out a long, slow breath I hadn't realized I was holding. There had to be some kind of mistake.

I set the box in my lap and ran my fingers around the edges tentatively before lifting the lid slowly. I half-expected it to creak, since it looked like it hadn't been opened in months, but the only noise in the room was the pop of the fire and the ragged sound of my breathing. There was a small gold plate on the inside of the lid that read, "On your thirteenth Christmas may you always pursue the stars and know you will someday fly. All my love, Daddy."

My throat burned and the unshed tears stung. _No. _

There had to be a reason for this… some kind of explanation. Why would this have been kept from me? My eyes finally drifted from the gold plate to the contents of the box. Inside was a pile of letters, some more yellowed with age than the others. I almost didn't want to read them, afraid of confirming what I was already certain of.

The letter on top was dated for last Christmas, when I had not received a letter from my father, and the gift didn't seem at all like Daddy. Unfolding the letter, I read,

_Dear Addie,_

_I can hardly believe this is your fifteenth Christmas. I apologize that there is no gift with this letter, but I'm afraid what I really wanted to send you could not be packaged, so it will have to wait for when I see you next. I realize that you might not want to see me again after all these years, but it is my hope that you can find it within you to give your foolish father another chance—_

I set it aside. The next letter down, slightly less yellowed, was from my fourteenth Christmas. It was shorter, and explained why there had not been a gift that year either. What my father obviously didn't know was that there _had _been a gift, just not from him. The thirteenth and twelfth letters were much the same; though he included his remarks that he hoped I enjoyed the box and volumes of poetry.

I skimmed the letters from my eleventh Christmas back to my seventh and at the bottom of the box was the letter from my first Christmas with Aunt Colette and Uncle Winston, when I was six. It was the shortest letter of all, yellow and brittle with age.

_My dearest Addie Bell,_

_I miss you. The house is not the same without you running in and out of the rooms, your sweet laugh echoing off the walls. It's too quiet here, and I am moving out next week. The house will remain unoccupied, though I cannot guarantee what its condition will be if I ever return. I shall first travel to Eberly, not too far from you in Obelin, where I will seek an old friend and learn a new trade._

_I'm sorry for the way things worked out, my Addie—you will never know how I longed to keep you with me always. Your aunt and uncle can care for you far better than I will ever be able to, and you will always be in my heart and on my mind. I know you will grow into a strong and beautiful young woman just like your mother, and I shall always be proud of you._

_I pray that someday you will forgive me. I love you._

_Daddy_

A choked sob escaped my throat as I folded the letter and slapped it back into the box and threw the others on top of it. Why had he left me here? I had never really given it much thought as to why Daddy had sent me here after my mother's death, but now I didn't see how I'd ever understand. Didn't he know I would have given up everything to stay with him? I didn't need books or finery, fancy clothes or feather beds—I needed my father, not an aunt and uncle whom I'd never met.

But with the knowledge my uncle kept these things from me so many years and then forged the letters given to me each Christmas, I began to wonder if he even cared about me. I saw now he couldn't possibly love me. Was Aunt Colette involved?

I noticed I'd dropped a letter on the floor, and snatched it quickly, swallowing hard to keep the tears at bay. It was addressed to my uncle, dated a few months before my twelfth Christmas, the first yearI did not receive a letter from my father.

_Winston,_

_Thank you for replying so promptly. I understand why Addie would not want to write, and I do appreciate you and Colette talking through it with her. If it is not an inconvenience to you, I shall continue to send my annual gifts and letters, just so Addie will know I have not forgotten her should she change her mind about wanting to have some contact with me. Thank you for your time._

_Richard_

I heard footsteps outside the office and I wondered how long I had been inside. It didn't even seem to matter now. I replaced the box on my uncle's desk and left the forbidden room without a backward glance.

He hadn't known; the last letter had proven that. But the fact that Uncle Winston had gone behind my back and lied all those years stung of betrayal like I had never known. The Christmas letters and gifts were the only connection I had to my father, and he kept them from me.

Unadulterated rage welled up inside me and threatened to spill over. I wanted to scream, but instead walked as quickly as I could back to my room, where I was certain to avoid my aunt and uncle.

I knocked over the first thing I encountered, which happened to be a wooden chair by the fireplace. I had never felt such fury in all my life, such deception and disillusionment. I heaved a pillow across the room and let out a low cry of feral pain before I flung myself onto my bed and sobbed myself to sleep.


End file.
